There are many things I say "hi" to in the morning. I think about this often. Hot feet hit freezing floorboards and there's a hello. I throw my dress on over my nightgown. Hello to coffee, hello to cream, hello to kitties and kitchens and mirrors and washing machines. Before I fall asleep at night, I always say the "Our Father." It's what I've done since I was a kid, sans 2002-2006ish. I will talk with God for a time and pray for things, and attempt to seal the envelope of the day, send it off to eternity. Wonder if I'll remember anything about it a week from now. Some prayers are new, and others I have prayed day in and out for years, most of those prayers make me ashamed of myself for not being better. Then I wonder whether or not said shame is necessary or appropriate or debilitating. I wonder when I will be fixed and ready. I try to balance reality with all these lingering or fleeting feelings. Then I imagine myself being good and ready. Good being key, here. Ready being the product of good. I've come to the conclusion that I will never be ready. I will never have it all together. Never know for sure. Never be satisfied as I would like in this life. That realization is somewhat satisfying, however. I can be confident in that knowledge. I can rest assured, and say to God, "Well, tomorrow is a new day, and THAT is exciting, and I long to say 'hey' to you when it arrives." Recently, I've been wondering if I will stop breathing in my sleep. Suddenly, the gig is up, and I'm up shit creek without a paddle. And I have nothing. But I sleep, and I rise. And I say "hey" to a lot of things throughout the morning, before I remember to say "hey " to God. And I am ashamed of myself. I feel a great sadness. And I am ashamed of myself for that too. I'm not ready. Shame. Not fixed. Shame. Not anything I thought I would be, nothing is happening I perceived, nothing is how I wanted it to become in this life. But I do have all these self-absorbed thoughts, and those are dumb. Shame shame shame. I feel a great sadness. But know that I am not sad. It's just a feeling. I feel death, but am not death. I feel alive, and am living, but I also feel the greater life that is passing through me. The Good Blood. I didn't make it. I didn't put it there. I only know that it was given to me, and I don't deserve it. And that it doesn't matter that I don't deserve it. I understand this and simultaneously don't at all. But I do enough to say, "ok. I'll have that, if it'll have me."